


shinier than thou

by Zayrastriel



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: BDSM, Bondage, Discipline, Dom/sub, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, Insecurity, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Praise Kink, Sensory Deprivation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-30
Updated: 2015-09-30
Packaged: 2018-04-24 03:48:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4904404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zayrastriel/pseuds/Zayrastriel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John doesn’t understand why Sherlock has chosen him as his boyfriend/partner/submissive.  Sherlock disapproves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	shinier than thou

For the first two months of Sherlock-and-John being _Sherlock-and-John_ , the question is less a question and more a niggling feeling at the back of his mind.  The beginning of the next month, John realises just how much he loves being on his knees for Sherlock (or on his back, or on his hands and knees, or _anything_ as long as it is for Sherlock). 

A month after that, Sherlock presents John with a collar (shiny black leather and glimmering steel, and probably worth more than the contents of John’s bank account.)  John pretends he doesn’t hear the vulnerability in his lover’s voice, or see the relief in those eyes, when he accepts it with almost pathetic enthusiasm.

It’s around that point that the niggling feeling becomes a question, which he successfully manages to keep down for another full three months.

Partially because it comes from a place that he thought he’d left behind along with university, and partially because he’s fairly sure Sherlock would just laugh at him.  John doesn’t really mind being the subject of Sherlock’s amusement, but this might be a little too much.

Which is why he almost punches himself in the face when it does finally, unexpectedly, escape his mouth; an incredulous “ _Why?_ ” as Sherlock is unravelling the ropes from the bedposts. 

Sherlock doesn’t stop what he’s doing, doesn’t even hesitate – but with the acute awareness John has developed over the past year of everything Sherlock, John knows as the man speaks that there’s an eye-roll accompanying his words.

“As tempting as it is to have you tied to my bed all the time, John – and believe me, it is – I imagine it wouldn’t do wonders for your shoulders.  Besides,” he adds, voice dropping an octave from matter-of-fact to sultry in a way that prompts a valiant (though unsuccessful) attempt from John’s cock to rise (again), “I rather enjoy the way you squirm in my lap when I’m fucking you.”

John waits for the arousal to settle down before he replies; Sherlock doesn’t really need more encouragement, and he’s a little afraid that another orgasm might actually kill him.  “Not what I was asking, but thanks,” he says drily.

“Then what?” Sherlock has finished with the wrist bindings, and John can now feel him untying the knot behind his head before working the hood gently up and over John’s head.

John starts to speak, but stops when the words are muffled by the fabric.  “Wait,” Sherlock orders (unnecessarily, the git), finally freeing John.  With a sweep of his arm, the hood and ropes are knocked to the floor.  John would protest – he doesn’t know what Sherlock spent on all that but he _knows_ it’s expensive – but post-orgasmic relaxation and the pleasant echoes of subspace leave him discarding the words. 

Instead, he simply snuggles into Sherlock when the other man settles next to him, an arm coming to pull John closer into comforting warmth.

“Alright,” Sherlock says, his voice sleepy.  “Why ‘what?’?”

John bites his lip.  It seems silly, now.  Not that he’s stopped worrying or anything; but it’s irrational, he knows.  “It’s nothing,” he finally replies, though guilt twists in his gut.

“John.” 

Sleepiness now has the slightest hint of steel.  Not serious, not yet; but John can’t help tensing (stupid, because there’s no way Sherlock can’t feel that.)

Nevertheless, John tries again.  “It’s really nothing, Sherlock,” he repeats, voice purposefully steady as he forces his shoulders to relax.  “Subspace talking, that’s it.”

Under his head, John feels Sherlock exhale, cool breath brushing over his hair in a silent sigh.

For a moment, one foolish moment, John thinks his lover might actually let it go.

“Get the cane,” Sherlock murmurs mildly.

John’s heart stutters. 

Actually stutters, no exaggeration.  Because John remembers the last time Sherlock told him to get the cane.

He doesn’t want to remember it.

“Sherlock-“

“You know the rules, John.  Answer, cane, or safeword.”

It’s true, John does know the rules.  He knows that for Sherlock, evasion is the worst possible infringement of their relationship.  There’s no punishment for John snapping at him, not for the terrible revenge tea John has made more than once.  Not for punching Sherlock in the face, even. 

“Sherlock, please.”  He doesn’t know why this is such a sticking point, why his brain is literally cringing away from the words that would make this all okay; because Sherlock is angry, for a reason John knows but doesn’t really understand.

Sherlock’s only response is to trail his fingers up John’s body, to curl around his neck, and gather skin between two of his fingers. 

It’s a threat (like he said the first time he did it to John, a vicious pinch to the back of the neck isn’t appealing even to painsluts.)

“I was just,” John says hurriedly, before Sherlock can carry out that threat, “I just don’t get it.  I don’t get why you don’t find someone more exciting.”

The fingers relax as Sherlock withdraws slightly.  When John looks up, he can see actual surprise on his partner’s face. 

“What?”

“I mean, it’s…”  John sighs.  “What’s in it for you?  You’re...you know, _you_ ,” he fumbles, because there is no way to actually verbalise Sherlock, in all his glimmering blinding supernovic glory.  “All attractive and…fingery.”

The last comes out before John can stop himself, and he flushes as Sherlock smirks.  It’s obviously not enough to distract the other, unfortunately, because the smirk fades quickly.  “And?” Sherlock prompts, voice quiet.

“And I’m…I’m…Look, I’m not insecure, Sherlock,” and if that doesn’t sound weak in light of the past five minutes, then he’s deluding himself, “I mean, I’ve been the pretty new thing at the clubs.  It’s not like I haven’t had people wanting to fuck me-“ John cuts himself off, because that light in Sherlock’s eyes is just a little too possessive.  “Anyway, that’s not the point.”

“No, it’s not,” Sherlock agrees, though with a tone which hints that it’s probably going to be a point sometime in the near future.  “What is the point?” he adds, as though he hasn’t already deduced it.

It’s tempting to roll his eyes.  “Sherlock, I’m a middle-aged man with war calluses a Wartenberg Wheel couldn’t make a dent in.  There’s a bullet wound in my shoulder, I spend most of my time making tea, and I’m most definitely not the most exciting sub in London-“

“I see,” Sherlock says tonelessly, cutting John off mid-sentence.  And that’s all.

“…Sherlock?” John asks tentatively.  But the man just stares at him, pale eyes inscrutable as ever; and with an intensity that John is never going to get used to.

After another long moment, Sherlock reaches out a hand to nudge John onto his side.  After a slight pause and a brief rustle of clothing, John feels the mattress shift as Sherlock shuffles closer to press his front against John’s back and ass. 

John is just resigning himself to Sherlock’s silence, when...”You’ve been keeping that in for a while, haven’t you?”

“The past couple of months, yeah,” John admits.

He feels a gentle kiss against the side of his neck, and long slender legs moving to entwine with John’s.  “Thank you for telling me,” Sherlock murmurs, and the words are as gentle as the kiss.  “Go to sleep.”

~

It takes a week for John to assume Sherlock doesn’t mean to act on his confession.  A day after that when they get back from a successful case, John barely has time to put his coat away before he’s being pushed against the wall, tell-tale click of his collar closing around his neck as Sherlock forces his tongue into John’s mouth, startlingly vicious

That’s when they have the _conversation_ about that ‘point’ John had avoided the last time. 

Not so much a conversation, really.  It mostly involves Sherlock fucking John’s mouth with practiced violence, while John tries desperately to stave off orgasm despite the vibrator in his ass, the heady taste of Sherlock on his tongue, and the stream of humiliating, possessive filth that goes to his cock.

~

Five days after that is when the _other_ conversation finally comes around.

The majority of the day had been nothing special.  An unusually easy day at the office means that he has time to get the groceries before coming home.  Which is good, because the last time Sherlock had left body parts in the fridge (ignoring, once again, the extra fridge that John had finally bought him for just that purpose), they’d _leaked_.

Even Sherlock wasn’t willing to eat food soaked in corpse fluids.

 _Got off early, you want anything from the shops_? he texts Sherlock.  Predictably, Sherlock doesn’t respond. 

So John picks up the usual essentials, plus some things that Sherlock will actually eat without being prompted, and hops on the subway before 4pm. Sherlock isn’t on the couch when John gets home.  But the coat’s hanging on its hook, so he’s probably lurking somewhere in the flat. 

There’s no chance that Sherlock hasn’t heard him enter, but John clatters a little louder than necessary as he opens the fridge to put away the milk. 

“I’m home!” John calls out when he doesn’t hear anything in response.

Too late, he feels a warm presence behind him. 

 _Fuck, that man moves like a ninja_ , John thinks with resignation.  “Sherlock-“ he begins as he makes to turn around.

A hand clamps on John’s shoulder, keeping him still.

“Hello, John.”

Sherlock hasn’t even gotten halfway through John’s name before the telltale pinprick of a needle draws John’s attention to his own arm.

It takes John about five seconds to register that his boyfriend has just sedated him, another three to stop panicking, and three more to start feeling the effects. 

“ _Seriously_ , Sherlock?” John mumbles, his muscles becoming lax as his vision blurs.


End file.
